


An Hour, More or Less

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Closet Sex, Community: fan_flashworks, Epic Bromance World Tour, Fluff, M/M, Road Trips, Romance, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles loses an hour; Erik finds it and puts it to good use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Hour, More or Less

**Author's Note:**

> For the "lost hour" prompt at [fan_flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.dreamwidth.org/). :D
> 
> Indiana's time zones have always been wonky, but in the 1960s they were especially wonky. You could, in fact, drive an hour north from Indianapolis and be right back where you started, time-wise, in 1962.

"He isn't going to show, is he?" Erik asks, after the fourth time Charles checks his watch. "How late is he?"

"Only five minutes, but he isn't the sort of man who'd be late." Charles frowns down at his watch again. "I've read his file, _you've_ read his file, he's meticulous, not impulsive, he's never once punched in late to work, he follows the same routine every day-- if he said he'd meet us, he'll meet us."

"I believe you," Erik says, "but it really doesn't look as though he's here."

"No." Charles sighs. "No, I suppose not. Damn. It's an interesting mutation! I was so hoping to meet him, we really haven't run into many psionics."

"Except the one," Erik says calmly, unfolding his newspaper and glancing through the local section.

"Right, except the one. But that makes having another on our side that much more urgent." Charles checks his watch again and shakes his head. "He isn't going to show. We ought to go and get some lunch."

"A bit early for that, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, it's five past twelve--"

"Five past eleven," Erik says. He tucks his newspaper into one hand, saving his place with his index finger, and reaches out two fingers toward Charles's watch, frowning all the while. "Did you forget to reset your watch again?"

Charles looks down; the hands on his watch rotate around, turning back one hour. "I checked my watch just a little while ago, when we were passing through Indianapolis. It was ten-forty..."

"And now we're in Kokomo, and it's five past eleven."

"Oh, don't be absurd. We're still in Indiana, aren't we?"

"Apparently this part of the state observes Central time instead of Eastern."

"What sort of ridiculous nonsense is that?"

Erik shrugs. "The sort you get in an all-human state legislature, no doubt."

"How do you even know what time it is?" Charles is close to sulking now, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not as though your mutation gives you an innate sense of time. And you've been traveling across time zones every bit as much as I have."

"I reach out for clocks and watches wherever I go," Erik says. He nods across the room. "The man with the grey trilby hanging over the edge of his booth, he's got a watch that keeps perfectly good time. There was a clock across the street, at the bank. A few other people with working watches. There's a clock in the kitchen." Erik nods toward the swinging door that leads into the back of the diner. "They're all slightly different, of course, but they show the same hour. Except for yours."

Charles groans. "You could have told me."

"I try _not_ to get a sense for the metal on your body when we're in _public_ ," Erik points out, and that makes Charles bite his lower lip as the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin. Erik smiles, too, folding up his newspaper.

"So we're early," Charles says, eyes bright and wide with meaning.

"Quite."

"Nearly an hour early."

"So it would seem."

The gleam in Charles's eye makes Erik dig into his pocket for change, spilling some on the table to pay for their coffee.

"Don't let me rush you," Charles says, all innocence. "We could stay here." He lifts his fingers to his temple, twiddling them a bit. "I could make sure we're not spotted..."

"Perhaps you could find us somewhere with a _bit_ more privacy."

They end up ducking into the broom closet in the back of the diner, hinges and doorknob sealed tightly by Erik, trespassing and presence camouflaged neatly by Charles. "This is absurd," Erik laughs softly, burying his face in the side of Charles's neck. "How do I let you talk me into these things?"

"I'm very charming," Charles says, mock serious. "I'm very difficult to resist."

"You are," Erik admits, reaching between them, getting his hands on Charles's belt buckle. A few twists and a moment's work, and he's undoing Charles's zipper with his ability, tugging it down so he can slide a hand beneath Charles's boxers, wrap his fingers around Charles's cock. Charles is, of course, already hard; Charles was probably hard at the table, as soon as he realized there might be time for this.

"What do you think, hand or mouth?" Erik asks, but after a teasing kiss against Charles's neck, he starts moving to his knees. "Mouth's neater..."

"I appreciate your attention to detail in... this..." Charles says, and then he has to brace himself against a shelf full of extra napkins, leaning his head back and gasping. Erik slides his mouth down on Charles's cock, and not one to do things in half-measures, he goes down nearly all the way in one swift, slick motion. He reaches up and grabs Charles by the hips, encouraging him to rock in, and Charles takes full advantage, thrusting in as Erik moans softly and lets Charles set the pace.

«Almost an hour,» Charles sends, «how long do you think your mouth would hold up? If your voice is gone by the time he gets here, do you think it'll matter?» He backs off a little, catching Erik's hair and thrusting gently, rubbing the head of his cock against Erik's tongue. Erik holds still and lets him, allows the rest of the world to slip away from them-- all he needs in this moment is the feel of Charles's cock in his mouth, the gentle but insistent stroke of Charles's cock, using Erik's mouth for his pleasure.

«I'll want mine, too,» Erik thinks up at Charles, but who knows how long it's been, who knows how long it might be before Charles is done. Erik doesn't _care_ ; it feels so incredible to have Charles near him like this, to have the opportunity to be close to Charles again and again as they search the country for more of their own kind. These moments between them might be stolen now, but someday... when Shaw is dead, when they've got time to start a whole new world together, they'll have all of this and more.

«I want that,» Charles thinks, reaching over to Erik's temple. Erik can't fault Charles for listening in, not now, not when Charles is close and Erik isn't shielding worth a damn. «I want that, you, me, together, _us_ , friends, colleagues, _family_ , together, Erik, you and me, forever, _always_ \--»

Erik hasn't believed in 'always' or 'forever' very long, but Charles thinks those words at him so often in moments like these; he knows the taste of those feelings now, a salty-slick flavor against the flat of his tongue. He swallows it, savors it. «Forever,» he thinks, coming up to his feet. «Always.»

«Come here,» Charles thinks, almost growls in Erik's head. He grips Erik by the shirt, tight as it is, and he reaches between them to pull Erik close. He taps a finger against Erik's belt buckle, and Erik uses his ability to undo it, takes his zipper down with a quick jerk of his power. Charles unfastens the button of his trousers, and then his hand's inside, seeking, _finding_. Erik gasps into Charles's mouth as Charles strokes him, squeezes him, picks up the arousal right where it paused a moment ago, as Erik came to his feet. «This,» Charles tells him, mind-to-mind, «give me this, I want it, show me how much you want it too--»

Erik expected to last longer, but he can't-- not with Charles murmuring orders directly to his mind, not with Charles's hand touching him perfectly, in all the right places. He clutches at Charles's shoulders and comes, moaning openly against Charles's mouth. Anyone who might have been listening is forgotten entirely; the whole damned diner could walk in on them right now, and Erik wouldn't care.

«Beautiful,» Charles thinks, brushing Erik's hair back from his face with one hand, carefully drawing the other hand free from Erik's trousers. «You're so beautiful. How did I ever get along without you...?»

Erik doesn't answer that; there _is_ no answer for that. Instead, he kisses Charles again, and then laughs as Charles breaks away to grab for some of those spare napkins, clumsily cleaning up and offering Erik some as well.

They're mostly recovered by the time they make it out of the broom closet, and it hasn't really taken so long; they have plenty of time to sit down again and order more coffee before their punctual mutant friend arrives. Under the table, though, Charles strokes the toe of his loafer against the side of Erik's ankle, and Erik twists the watch on Charles's wrist, just enough to make Charles smile down at it from time to time.


End file.
